The Shadow of Falling Leaves
by Fiera Evenstar
Summary: Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, and Gimli the ever-stout Dwarf, set off across the sea in hopes of traveling their world, free from fate, from destiny, boundless as the waves. Of course they get more than they bargained for. This is an account of their adventures, in which an Elf and a Dwarf join forces and sail rough waters. A storm is coming. And we must be ready for when it hits.
1. Chapter 1

Legolas Thranduilion awoke to the sound of drunken men shouting, tuneless singing, and the snoring of an overtired Dwarf. Groaning softly, he rolled over onto his side in an attempt to block out the noise, grinding his hip over the metal buckle of his waist belt causing him to hiss in pain. Sleep was fruitless, so the young Elf Prince sat up on the thin stained mattress that the inn had provided for the night, one hand rubbing the tiredness from his eyes as the other one pushed his hair back. The Dwarf was sleeping on the bed across from his, snoring loud enough to nearly drown out the commotion of morning activities downstairs in the dining area.

"Gimli," Legolas moaned, pressing his fingers to his temples. The Dwarf snored on. "Gimli!"

The Dwarf Gimli snorted once, twice, twisted around in the sheets like he was trying to get up, and promptly fell off of the bed and to the worn boarded floor. The thud that followed shook the floor enough that some curses at the heavy sleeper could be discerned from some of the rowdy men already back at out-drinking each other. A chuckle escaped Legolas' throat in good humor as he stood up, arching his back, feeling his joints creak back into place. The hard mattress had not been kind to his back, but for the money and the quality of the drink, it was good enough for a one night stay.

Legolas and Gimli had arrived in the wee hours of the night, past the time when even the most avid gamblers and competitive drinkers were awake, on foot. Legolas would admit that even he himself, and Elf, was beginning to feel the slightest twinge of fatigue. The kind innkeeper had sent them off to their room as quickly as possible, as soon as Legolas had managed to dig a handful of change from his pocket and set it on the greasy counter. It had been clean a few minutes ago, but another group of men and round of drinks later, it was back to its grimy state.

Gimli growled something indiscernible as he freed himself from the knots of threadbare sheets, a fly caught in the spider's silvery web. His large rust-coloured beard hung in bushy tangles down to his waist, muffling the curses that were spat from his lips.

"Gimli, if you don't mind hurrying along, we need to have our breakfast and then get back on the road. It is but a few miles to the nearest port from where we will set sail," Legolas reminded him.

"They'd better have a worthy meal here, and not just ale," Gimli grumbled as he rose unsteadily to his feet. "And by Durin's beard, why did you wake us up? It is not yet light outside!"

"No, a red sun rises this day. Some say that such skies forewarn of bad sailing weather, although those are only the myths of men from the Olden Days." Legolas walked silently over to the one window in the inn's room that he and the Dwarf were staying in and brushed aside the thick fabric curtain in one fell swoop. Instead of flinching back from the sudden golden brightness that the sun usually brought, the light that did enter the room was a dim crimson, like freshly drawn blood. "But one can see why they feared the redness. It looks like a great battle was fought in the clouds, with the gore of fallen warriors raining down on the lower lands."

Gimli glanced at him strangely. Legolas cleared his throat. "Right then. Let us pack up what little provisions we have brought with us for the journey. And you might want to make that bed, my friend. I doubt that the innkeeper wants to see his fine linens in such a state."

Within a matter of minutes, the two unlikely friends had packed up the few belongings they had taken with them, pocketing sparse change, hastily folding extra outer-garments, and things of the like, when there was a soft knock at the door. Legolas looked up from where he stood, light brown tunic halfway pulled over his head, Gimli still struggling with the belt for his trousers.

"One moment, please," the Elf called out, yanking the hem of his tunic down and quickly throwing the belt around the waist, not even bothering to tie it properly.

When he opened the door, he was greeted by an unpleasant sort of face. It was a man that was at the door, of average height and unmeasured odor. Wrinkling his nose, Legolas leaned casually against the doorframe, observing the stranger. He had wild and dirty hair, dark flitting eyes that held no trust, a nose that was halfway to being classified as a beak, and a beard that needed desperate and immediate care. The untrusting eyes were locked firmly on his own, a sharply contrasting blue that gleamed like water reflecting the light of the stars at midnight. The stranger scowled with slightly yellowed teeth. It was obvious that he had gotten into the rum heavily, as he smelled of filth and the overwhelming stench of alcohol. He wore a dingy brown shirt with a torn leather vest, boots that could stand a good washing, and trousers that hadn't been washed in over a month. At least, that was what Legolas' nose was telling him. There was a general aura of something dislikeable about this stranger.

"They say that yer the Elf Prince," the stranger ground out. His voice was gravelly and his breath was laced with stale smoke. "The one tha' hails from Mirkwood. Son o' Thranduil, tha' one?"

Legolas blinked slowly.

"Let it be known tha' the sea be no proper place fer an Elf, 'specially one who's ne'er seen it before. Ye can't even lay claim to being in one o' them storms, can ye? It's not yer turf."

"And why tell me this?"

"Let's just say between the two o' us, there are some out there without yer best interests at heart, laddie." He ground his teeth and spat next to his right foot.

"And what would your name be, my friend?" Legolas asked, casting a sidelong glance at the glob of spittle on the wood flooring right outside his room door. Gimli tromped up next to the Elf, fully clothed now, wrapped in a ruddy red cloak.

"Yea, who is this cur that shows up at our door little past dawn?" the Dwarf demanded, crossing his arms imposingly over his barrel-like chest, making a daunting figure even at his diminished height. He came only halfway up Legolas' chest and a bit farther on the stranger's, who was a bit shorter than the Elf Prince.

"Folks 'round here call me Crowfoot," Crowfoot the pungent man answered, wiping his lips with his filthy sleeve. Legolas felt his jaw twitch. "I be well known 'round these here parts. I come an' I go as I please, but I know near every face that passes in an' out o' these town gates. But I must say that I ain't ever seen your two faces before. "

"We are not from these parts and have not traveled this way before," Legolas admitted. "We are leaving presently, so if you do not mind, we had best be on our way."

"Headed to where, laddie? There be no work 'round here unless ye want to get into fish 'n tackle." The stranger, Crowfoot, spat again. Something green came out with it this time.

"Then we might just have to keep moving onwards towards the next seaside port. We were only stopping here for the night, although it is kind of you to show some concern. How is the breakfast meal here? If anything, I hope that it is better than the dinner, but if not, we can make do with what we have."

"Since the Ring was destroyed and Sauron defeated, there has been much prosperity amongst the people of Mirkwood and of Erebor, and some have decided to set off on their own adventures to find work and see where the wind happens to take them," Gimli explained, fingering his wild russet beard. "Legolas here is of the Mirkwood Archers and wishes to branch out his services to the other branches and peoples of Middle Earth. I, myself, as a Dwarf, look for stonework. Most opportunity is overseas, Crowfoot, so it would be best for your sake that you did not meddle in the affairs of foreigners."

"I meant no disrespect, Master Dwarf," Crowfoot hissed, like a snake would through its teeth. "I bid ye both a good day, then. Just watch yer backs. No one in this place is how they seem."

Legolas nodded slowly, and the stranger that called himself Crowfoot bowed his head gently, and on quiet yet uneven footsteps left the hall and made his way down the stairs, most likely to drink some more. The door was quickly shut behind him, and Legolas let out a long held breath.

"Well he seemed like the jolly type," Gimli grumbled.

"He is but another foolish drunken man living off of spirits and poor table food," the Elf Prince remarked as he took his hair in his hands and braided the unattended locks in a messy plait that draped like liquid gold over his shoulder. There was no time for neatness and looking as his father would put it, 'presentable'. The salt of the sea breeze had managed to tousle his hair so that it was now undeniably and incurably wavy. Legolas cared very little for appearances, especially when out doing business. It was best to blend in the best that one could to evade the public eye and remain unscathed.

Now he looked the part of a simple commoner, if he managed to avoid looking people in the eyes. His features were undoubtedly those of the fair Elven folk, and his tall stature resembled that of a young tree—tall and lean and nimble-branched yet strong. He liked playing the part of the everyday workman, though. The peace of the simplicity was comforting and reassuring. The only places in the towns and cities of Men that he was not all that fond of were dingy inns and pubs full of drunks, scantily clad prostitutes, jeering, the stench of alcohol and sweat. It was there that he felt the farthest from home, the farthest from everything that he as an Elf of Mirkwood and a member of the Archers stood for.

Gimli was too short to do much about his height, but he wore the garb of a simple traveler as well. Simplicity and ignorance was bliss when no one for many a mile knew you by name.

"Nonetheless…" Legolas trailed off as he slid on his soft leather boots, "…we should consider taking a careful and more hidden path to the ships. Crowfoot himself may be just a messenger. He seems to be the kind that would know others that could give us a bit of trouble."

"Trouble? Trouble for Legolas Thranduilion and Gimli son of Glóin? I think not, you pointy-eared disbeliever!" Gimli's bread bristled in indignant fury.

"Still, we ought to keep our heads low. At least until we get to the ship."

"Why do you wish to go to the sea so much?" the Dwarf asked as he swung his pack over his shoulder. Legolas gazed out the window and into the distance, watching as the scarlet rays of the sun played over the shifting surface of the reflecting waters in the distance.

"Another story for another time, my friend," the Elf said wistfully, grabbing his own pack, as well as his bow which had been stowed beneath his mattress. "Now we must make haste. The boundless oceans await us."

* * *

Greetings, readers! Thank you for being so adventurous as to read the first chapter of my story! Please let me know what you think, and give me feedback. I love the constructive criticism, as it not only makes me a better writer, but gives you wonderful lot a better reading experience.

Cheers,

Fiera


	2. Chapter 2

The breakfast was better than the dinner. Nothing could have been much worse than the previous night's dinner, but being worn as the soles of their shoes then, Legolas and Gimli had swallowed their remaining pride, as well as the stale rolls with the aged sauce that tasted like death itself, and the fruit that was most likely a week too far past ripeness. It was sustenance, and sustenance was nothing to simply pass by without a care.

Breakfast was simple, the rolls being fresher, the fruits that were served being sweeter, and Gimli risked grabbing a small bit of rum before hitting the road. He admitted that it was the best that he had in a while, or else his standards were lowering after being forced to live off of nuts and berries and roots for the past weeks as he wandered about in the wilderness with an Elf. He mostly blamed the Elf.

The dining area of the inn was a spacious room crowded with many tables made of oaken boards, most of which were empty given the early hour. Spindle-legged stools encircled the tables, the floor slats scuffed with the telltale marks of the stool legs repetitively scraping against the varnish. The walls were also wooden, decorated with banners of previously colourful and now faded cloth, the tassels at their ends frayed from age and abandonment. The strands of said tassels had once been a rich gold, the woven threads now coming undone, sad remnants of the past.

The Elf and the Dwarf had managed to find themselves an adequate table next to one of the small porthole-like windows, dusty pale light filtering in through the thick glass. The windows could hardly been seen out of, as the ocean wind had shellacked a layered crust of sea salt onto the panes. They still served the purpose of letting light in, and allowed the visitors their privacy. The tipsy chorus of bad singing came from the other side of the room, where a cluster of men still had yet to finish the drinking game that they had started the previous night.

"A beautiful tune," Legolas commented absent-mindedly around a mouthful of hard roll. "Too bad they are more drunk on beer than a Dwarf on gold."

Gimli growled under his breath. "Watch yourself, pointy-ears," he warned.

"Hmm?" Legolas had been staring out through the window, paying no mind to the Dwarf that sat across from him. He took a swig from the mug next to his hand, marveling at the same time how far he had fallen from his Elven customs of small sips from the wine glass. Ah, but when one was adventure called, what did tradition and delicate table manners mean to anyone? As if trying to prove this to himself, he took another large bite from the roll and washed down the retched aftertaste with another gulp of whatever was in the mug. It was neither beer nor water, perhaps a mix of both. Whatever it was, it was far better than the thought of having to taste those rolls into the next week.

Gimli grunted "Never mind. Never was there so Elven and Elf, nor one so far from it, as you."

"I shall take that as a compliment, Gimli." He turned his gaze back outside the window, and Gimli lost himself in thought as well, until a massive crash caused the both of them to whip around in their seats.

It was a woman. At least, it sounded like a woman because whoever it was had been wrapped in a dark cape, but her voice that was currently shouting bloody murder at someone was certainly high and shrill enough to be female. Three men strode into the inn after her.

The first one was shaped like a wine barrel, with a large wide torso and a small head firmly attached to a thick neck, and trunk-like legs ending in feet that were disproportionate to the mass of the man that they had the unfortunate job of supporting. The second looked like he had been shaped out of bendable wire, all bone and lean sinew. His face closely resembled that of a rat, nose pointed and long, dark glittering eyes, mouth twisted in what was most likely a smirk, save for the knife wound that ran from his cheek to his chin in a disfiguring line of thick scar tissue. The third was none other than the shifty Crowfoot.

Legolas jumped to his feet. It appeared as though the men were harassing the woman, and she had come to the one mildly safe and civilized place in the area, only to have been followed by them.

"Easy there, laddie," Gimli muttered. "I think that the lass can hold her own."

Legolas bit down on his bottom lip. There was that instinct built into his bones that commanded him to aid the damsel in distress, but it appeared as though the damsel was not in as much distress as he would have thought. Whoever she was, she was smart enough to have hidden a long thin blade within the folds of her heavy cloak. The cloak was crusted at the hems with salt from the sea, and it glistened strangely in the dim light of the inn.

"I told you scraggly worms that I prefer to eat in peace!" she shouted, and in that moment she had captured the attention of everyone dining—Legolas, Gimli, the bartender, a serving girl, and the hoard of singing drunks.

The Dwarf grinned. "This is going to be good."

"Come on, missy, the ship don' leave the docks 'till quarter past," the barrel-chested man griped, and then with most elegant precision, he let out a rather impressive belch.

"What have you been drinking, Gibbins?" the woman questioned in disgust. "Your own swill?"

"Now tha' is goin' a bit too far, Ree," he yelled, deep baritone filling the dining hall.

"Is it now?" She fingered the long knife in her grip, and the men all exchanged wary glances, like they knew this woman was more than capable of defending herself. The way that she held the knife—a long kitchen blade it appeared—was proof enough that this was no maiden to mess with. "The captain would be inclined to agree with me on the matter that it is _not_ going too far whatsoever. As for you, Wilkins, Crowfoot, I have half the mind to gut both of your sorry rotting innards out onto the floorboards, but the innkeeper has done such a nice job keeping them clean."

"Just don' get too caught up in makin' small talk with the locals," Crowfoot advised the young woman, 'Ree' by the sound of it. What kind of a name was Ree?

"Worry not, Crowfoot. You should really be watching where you step, instead of worrying so much about me. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. You on the other hand…you make a barnacle look intelligent."

"Be on time, Ree," Wilkins of the rat face said for his parting words. "And be on your guard. Crowfoot here said that there's an Elf and a Dwarf bunking here. Real queer folk, he called them."

"Like you care."

"But I do!"

"Kiss my boots, you lying cow! Now get out, all of you lot, before I whip your hides!" Her last words came out as a commanding scream. The men all gave rapid apologetic bows of their heads before quickly scampering out the door they had some through only a minute before. If you have never seen a troupe of grown men scamper, then I must say that you have been missing out. The rest of the inn went back to their business, as though this were a day-to-day occurrence, but Legolas jumped at an opportunity that he had seen. The young woman had transport. A ship, it seemed. The men that had been bothering her were obviously sailors.

The young woman walked over to a table a few over from Legolas and Gimli and yanked out a chair, swinging her legs over the wooden seat. The serving girl came up to her and asked her if she wanted anything. A hand raised from inside her cloak as if to say, 'nothing, please', but when the serving girl left and returned a few minutes later with a steaming mug of something that smelled like spice tea, it became apparent that she had said something. She unpinned the dark sea-worn cloak and threw it over the back of the chair, revealing tanned skin from much exposure to the sun, hair that crossed between brown and blonde that was more blonde and streaked pale from the sun as well. Her eyes were the earth green of the forest, but had a wild spark in them. Her sun-bleached hair was mussed from being kept under her hood, as well as tossed about in the salty wind. She looked…wild. Free.

"I am going to go over and ask her—"

"You go do that, laddie. Be careful with her. She seems a bit of a wild woman, if you get my meaning. I'll be right here when you come back. I'm thinking about grabbing another one of those rolls from that serving girl, now that I mention it."

"Good then." He walked towards the young woman, noticing that the drunken singers were casting him strange and suspecting glances. Ree, if that was really her name, was drinking deeply from her mug of spice tea, and the scent of honey lingered when the smell wafted in his direction. The girl had good taste. From her mannerisms and the way that she had conversed with those men, she seemed to have some of the sea in her blood as well. She didn't register his presence, so he gently tapped her shoulder. She started, and snorted out some of the tea, spraying a fine mist over the table's surface, as well as all over the Elven Prince.

"Sorry, sorry!" Legolas pleaded as the woman let out a short round of hacking coughs.

"What do you want—?" she rasped when she could speak again. She stopped short. She had recovered enough that her vision was clearing up from the reactive tears that came with coughing. Her eyes widened. She gave the tall Elf in front of her a scrutinizing once-over. Quite tall, but not stocky. He was lean, and he looked strong. Broad shoulders, narrower waist, all components of a warrior's figure half covered up by loose and plain garb. His hair may have once been straight, but like hers, the sea had tousled the locks. He had thrown his long golden tresses into a messy braid that draped over his shoulder, and he had piercing eyes that bored into her own. Her gaze rested a little longer on his tapered ears than anything else.

"You—you're the Elf that those worms were talking about," she stuttered.

"Aye, I am," he confirmed, brow furrowing. "You have a ship, then? My friend and I seek transportation for adventurous purposes."

She wiped her mouth with her forearm. Beneath the cloak, she wore a stained white shirt, belted at the waist with braided strips of leather. She had scuffed boots on her feet, and slightly baggy trousers that were stuffed into her boots at the ends. The kitchen knife that she had been wielding earlier was sitting on the table without a sheath of any kind. It was only a foot of naked steel built for cutting through tendon and muscle and bone, but it could do more than slice dinner meats. Legolas knew that much. From his experience, it was much easier to kill a man than it was to kill a deer. Perhaps that was because when given the choice of fight or flight, which could become life and death in some cases, the deer would choose life in flight, and Men chose death in fight.

"Adventurous purposes, you say? An adventurous Elf traveling with a Dwarf of all beings? I think that I may have finally gone mad from bunking next to those three buckets of filth you met earlier."

"I have been labelled as partially insane by my kinsmen," Legolas promised her. The young woman stuck out her hand. It was long-fingered, with hard callouses at the tips, like his, although his cover his entire palm and fingers from handling swords, knives, and the bow, while hers came from lashing down ropes.

"Ree Witherwind," she said forwardly, and Legolas gripped it firmly.

"Legolas Thranduilion," he replied, and shook her hand once. Her hand went limp within his.

"What is the Prince of the Woodland Realm doing on the Sea?" she queried, voice quiet and laced with distrust.

"I have been all over Middle Earth, dear Ree, and I have yet to sail the sea. It is the one great adventure that I have yet to have, other than Death. And I think that both of us would agree that the latter is not the best option."

Ree gave him a smile, more of a mischievous smirk than anything. "Then welcome aboard, Master Elf." She squeezed his rugged hand. She then described the route taken to their ship. Then she gave him one final smile, and delved back into her own thoughts, clutching her mug in her own calloused hands.


	3. Chapter 3

The road was lit with the honey-sweet rays of the sun, the brine in the air mingling with the perfume of angelic white painted milkweed blossoms and delicate lace-like flowers that lined the cobblestone path behind the inn. The roughly hew cobbles rattled gently beneath the footfalls of Legolas and Gimli, rocking back and forth on uneven ground. The startling crimson of the sky had lessened to a rich orange colour that shone off of the silver metal-wrought buckles of the traveler's belts, turning them from bent iron to brass in the flickering gleam of the morning sun.

"Where is this _ship_ that you said we would find here at port?" Gimli questioned. "As far as I can see in this light, there is hardly any port in the first place, let alone a ship."

"Patience, Gimli," Legolas chuckled, patting his friend on the shoulder reassuringly. "Remember that things are not always as they seem. The ship that I speak of will not be in the main port."

"And why is that, exactly?"

Legolas mused on this thought for a minute. "Let us just say that there are some kinds of ships that cannot and should not be…confined."

"By Durin's Beard, Gandalf has rubbed off on you, Legolas," Gimli observed. "I think that the wizard's senseless mutterings have worn on your mind."

"You are absolutely full of compliments today, are you not, Gimli?"

A huffing grunt responded. It sounded like a snuffling boar hunting for truffles. "You seemed to really hit it off with that deranged maiden Ree," he said after another minute of blissful quiet, only foot against pathway and soft morning and the soft hint of brine on the morning breeze.

"She seems to be reliable," Legolas said, hoisting his pack up onto his shoulder. He and Gimli had finished their breakfast and had then gone back upstairs to gather their belongings before heading out. He had paid the innkeeper and tipped the serving girl, and realized with bitter amusement that the drunken men were still lumbering their way through another round of drinks and horrid singing.

"I like the spirit in the lass," the Dwarf commented off-handedly. "Pretty thing, but still knows how to stick a knife up her opponent's—"

"Really now, Gimli, it is best that you leave it at that," Legolas interrupted. He too thought that Ree would make for a good companion. There was no doubt that she was worthy of the title of a sailor. He had felt the hard grip, the rough palm, the strength in her arm as she clasped his hand with her own. He could clearly imagine her, hanging out up the mizzen mast, one foot perched on the taut rope ladder leading up to the crow's nest, the other dangling into empty space as on the same side, her hand was firmly holding a length of rope. She would have that knife on her belt, the sharp kitchen tool, and she would be carefree. So, so carefree. In a way, he envied this momentary vision of her. Perhaps this was one of the real reasons that he had left to go on an adventure across the Waters, not only to explore, but to be free. He wondered briefly what freedom tasted like. Maybe, he thought to himself, it tasted different for each different person. This prospect of freedom, though, tasted like pine and spice fresh on the wind. Absolutely delicious and invigorating.

The twosome rounded a bend, and in that moment, Gimli got his answer to where the ship might be hiding. They had been walking for some time, and the packs were beginning to find their way down into the rivet of their shoulder blades, digging in just enough to be aggravating and uncomfortable. The road to the main harbor had been passed a while ago, along with strands of quaint shops selling all sorts of trinkets (some of which undoubtedly were of Dwarf make in their craftsmanship) and wares, along with bakeries and little run-down homes of stone and wood, aged by the abrasion of the sea winds and salt. After a while, the shops faded away and the buildings that were present were even more dilapidated, exteriors gouged through, boards falling away without anyone to nail them back in, roofs falling in ungracefully on themselves. At the end of the cobbled road was a high sea wall of tumbled rocks, rough and hewn from the sides of mountains and polished smooth on the other side by the sea that pounded against them relentlessly. Pale and craggy on one side, dark as the unyielding night on the other, the wall served its purpose of secrecy and concealment.

Assisting his friend in the ascent of the wall, Legolas pulled Gimli up over the final large shelf of stone, and then both turned outwards to face the sea. The sky was golden now, reflecting on the shifting waters below, turning them a rich amber that put most jewelry to shame. As sunbeams danced mystically over the surface, shadows dwelt in the creases between the little wave peaks. Rocking gently, anchored a few dozen yards or so from the wall was a ship.

It was nothing massive, but it was of considerable size, and would require a large crew to man. The main mast reached upwards like the spire of a great lord's castle, the tattered flag lashing in the wind at its tip without marking or emblazoned symbol of whom it belonged.

"They fly a banner without colors," Gimli noted, squinting for his lack of supreme eyesight that Legolas possessed and he did not. "Why do you suppose they do that?"

"There must be some reason," Legolas mused. "They seem inclined toward secrecy already, if you realize that they docked as far from the main port as they possibly could. This is what they call being out-of-the-way, Gimli."

Without another word to the disgruntled Dwarf, Legolas took a soft leap down to a lower ledge of rock, an ugly slab of grey slicked over with algae that would have been dangerous if wet with the water of the sea. At the very bottom of the rock wall was a small boat of sorts, resembling a rowboat or a dinghy. It was sitting low on the surface, and it was obvious to see why. Sitting aft in the dinghy on the rower's chair was a massive man. He was like nothing that Legolas had seen in all his life. The man's skin was a very dark brown, almost like polished wood as it gleamed golden under the sun and shone back the glistening of the water. He was incredibly tall, coming about two inches above Legolas' head, which made the Dwarfish companion feel awfully small indeed, as Legolas himself cast an imposing figure. As they approached, they were able to get a better look at his appearance. He wore a ratted threadbare tunic to protect his massive shoulders from the blistering sun, and trousers cut off at the knee, also threadbare. There was nothing on his feet, but that was common for sailors. They either wore boots or nothing at all. Especially the rope rats; they always went barefoot to get a better grip on the ropes as they danced from mast to mast, flying through the air many deadly feet above the churning sea. The weathered face of the dark man crinkled like stained paper and his onyx eyes glittered as his wide mouth found its way into a smile.

"The Master Elf and Dwarf, you have come at last," he proclaimed with a flashing grin of white teeth that contrasted startlingly with his skin. "Ree told me she did that you two would be here. I admit that I doubted her. 'An Elf and a Dwarf, lass,' I said to her, 'you must be out of your bleeding mind.' And next thing I know, here you are."

"What is your name, sailor?" Legolas inquired, hoisting his pack yet again so that it stopped digging into his shoulders.

"The name is Kelderief," the large man said. "Around here, most just call me Kul. It's easier that way."

"Gimli," said the Dwarf. It was unnatural to skip the formality of introductions, such as naming one's self as the son of his father or the daughter of her mother, so on and so forth.

"Call me Legolas," the Elf replied.

"Then well met, Gimli and Legolas. Welcome to the Sea. I have been told that you plan on spending a bit of time on board. Our ship is strong enough; she's gotten us through enough storms. _Mist Star_ is her name after the previous captain that could guide her through the roughest of waters and the thickest of fogs by the light of the heavens by night."

Gimli shifted his weight "A fine ship by any standards. Who is the captain now?"

"A fellow by the name of Benedict. He just asks for us to call him Captain. Once again, it's easier that way. Otherwise I'd be calling him Ben or Ned, although neither one really seems to fit him. So it's Captain Benedict. Oh, and Crowfoot's first mate. Just thought you might want to know that." _"Although,"_ he added with a chuckle, "Ree's been giving him a run for his money. It's plenty obvious that those two are at war. From the looks of things, Ree is holding her own. She's a strong little thing." He spoke of her as if he were a proud father celebrating an accomplishment of his child. Legolas nodded. "All right then, climb aboard, it is always best if we cast off before the sun reaches its high peak and the waters get clear."

Legolas leapt lightly onto the boat, and it rocked gently beneath his feet, which were quavering slightly. Each little motion of a wave on the surface caused his legs to tremble in an effort to stay standing straight. Gimli smirked, but he was not able to keep the façade of smugness for much longer, because as soon as his boots came in contact with the bottom of the boat, he pitched forward and had to be caught by his Elven companion hooking his arms around the Dwarf, all the while trying not to fall himself. It took a few moments for them to get properly seated.

"Don't you worry," Kul soothed. "You two will gain your sea legs soon enough. It's one thing to be a simple passenger. It is entirely different when one wishes to be part of the crew."

Legolas leaned backwards and was then shoved forward by the momentum of a small wave as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Part—part of the crew?"

"Aye, Ree will expect you to earn your keep. The food's not for free, if you take my meaning. You have to work for what you get on the _Mist Star._ She'll have you know that soon enough, I would warrant. A sharp girl she is, too." Kul grasped the heavy wooden handles of the oars in his giant strong-fingered hands, and once again, Legolas spied rough callouses riddling the whole hand of the sailor, his more prominent on the meat of his hands rather than fingertips, proving his skill as an oarsman.

Kul pushed and pulled the water with great strength and rhythm, his muscles falling into motion as he simply repeated the action of arm up, arm down, over and over again. He did it subconsciously, but he was in constant control. He could feel the sea, and he knew how to move the oars to cut cleanly through the waves and still propel the dinghy forward, towards the _Mist Star._ With each motion of an oar, the ship grew larger and larger. Gimli's face grew greener and greener. Legolas was managing to hold his own, although his cheekbones were tinged an unhealthy color.

At long last, the dinghy pulled up alongside the _Mist Star,_ and its beauty as a vessel was even more apparent up close. Although heavily scarred in some areas, the woodwork was of fine quality and the mast reached up in a majestic fashion. Tested and tried, this ship was a strong one.

A rope ladder was knotted to a set of steel hooks at the edge of ship's side, the stiff crusted strands giving the weary Elf and Dwarf good handholds. Standing up in the boat alone took toil, and reaching out with confidence for the ladder seemed nearly impossible. At long last the contraption was climbed, and Legolas and Gimli clambered ungracefully (for and Elf and a Dwarf, that is) onto the roughly hewn deck. Kul slid over the side of the ship as though it were second nature.

Standing before the newcomers was a small crowd. It appeared as though the crew had taken a few minutes from their duties to greet the strange new folk that would be travelling with them for the Valar knew how long. Crowfoot, Gibbins, and Wilkins were among the lot. Everyone wore similar garb, not in the fashion sense, but in the sense that everything was worn thin and lightened with sun. Out of the mass of Men came a single young woman, her cloak and carving knife discarded, too-large pants tucked into boots, hair askew in the wind. The young woman cracked a mischievous smile, her chin crooked as well as her grin, and her greenish eyes twinkled a color closer to gold, like the amber of the waves. Ree.

"Well look who showed up," she remarked, one hip cocked to the side, her pleasure evident in her voice. "Welcome aboard."


	4. Chapter 4

"Miss Witherwind," Legolas greeted with an inclination of his head.

"Hello, lass." The corners of Gimli's beard lifted at the sight of the sailor girl.

She pursed her lips at the mention of her surname. "It's Ree out here, Master Elf," she commanded. "Not that we don't like formalities, but they can be rather futile and time-wasting out here on open waters. We would rather know each other as brothers than as class ranks in a society. Here we are equals. Except for the lily-livered spineless codfish. They don't tend to last that long, though."

"So this is the crew?"

"Most of us, aye," Kul affirmed. He had come up behind the newcomers on the ladder, quickly scaling the twisted strands of rope as though he had done it all his life. He probably had, having known the previous captain, and maybe even the one before him. It seemed to Legolas that although this Benedict was the captain, Kul still knew more about the ship than any other sailor. Crowfoot's upper lip curled in contempt. Ree scoffed as she caught wind of the first mate's glare.

"I would introduce you to everyone right now, but you will have to learn their names in time. Right now, we must cast off."

"Back to work!" Crowfoot said his bit as a command, and also a bit as an angry snarl that sent more spit flying from his ever-sneering lips. Gimli could sense the tension between him and Ree. The first mate had some problems with a woman taking on responsibilities. Responsibilities that had, for quite some time, been his and his alone. The crew, all sun-darkened skin in varying degrees of leather and of all shapes and sizes, immediately rushed to fulfill commands. It was fantastic and hypnotizing to watch grown men fly from rope to landing, unfurling sail and readying the ship's course, everything moving as if it were one huge machine, well lubricated and wound tight as an old grandfather clock. Small flashes of movement were scattered about all over, like finches and starlings lighting on branches of a great tree, only to have the wind to upheave them from their branches and send them scattering and flitting about like nervous housewives for another hold. The spasmodic motion was dizzying, especially combined with the already unsettling rocking of the deck of the ship. And these were calm waters.

"Come then, I had best take you up to the Captain," Ree ordered. Her statement was met acidly on the other end by Crowfoot.

"I'm first mate, wench," snarled the crooked bitter man.

"And _I_ found them. Possession is nine tenths of the law." Under her breath in a breathy low voice she muttered just loud enough for Legolas to hear, "Plus, you're a gimpy stuffed pig, so what would you know?" Legolas gave a brief snort of laughter that he hid behind a cough.

"Very well then lass, take 'em to the Cap' n's cabin. He should be awfully pleased t' see ye." Crowfoot's eyes glinted with malice, and Ree's cheeks colored so that they looked like the fruits that the inn had been serving. Hazarding a guess, the Dwarf gathered from her reaction that she had a mild infatuation with the captain of the _Mist Star,_ or at least he with her, and she was embarrassed about the situation. Perhaps it was also threatening to her position, wanting to rise to become the first mate without looking like there had been any romantic persuasion involved. The Captain could not go around picking favorites. Ree knew this, and it was eating away at her. By her next few words, it was obvious that the feelings were one-sided, and that Ree partook in the less sentimental branch.

"Captain Benedict can go boil his head for all I care, as long as he gets to properly meet our guests. More like our new crewmates, and you should be happy about that fact, Crowfoot. Finally, a few more poor souls to trample and run into the decks, blood running aft down the cracks filled with pitch. You seem rather fond of making people uncomfortable."

"I'll tell Cap' n' tha' ye said tha' 'bout 'im," he warned.

"And the Captain can go boil his head over that as well, I don't give the finger bone of a saint about it. He will most likely ignore that statement. But that's Benedict for you. Water of the back of a swan."

"For ye, p' 'raps, Ree. We can all see 'im lookin' outta the corner o' his eye at ye. Ye'd better watch yer back 'round a man like the Cap' 'n." Bitter glee crept into his voice, although it was humorous that even when he disrespected his superior officer who he had open contempt for, the volume of his jabs and accusations dropped considerably compared to the raucous bark of his usual gruff tones that sounded like something had crawled into his grimy lungs and died there, and was jostled around a bit every time a breath was taken.

Ree's hazel eyes flashed dangerously. "The Captain is a ten times the man that you will ever be, you crawling lump of manure. I am going to take these chivalrous adventurers to him and be on my way, and you would be one sorry fool if you were stupid enough to attempt stopping me. So _get out of my way._ "

Sensing a dangerous turn in the atmosphere, Gimli cleared his throat in an attempt to break the unwavering beam of glowering hatred passing from sailor to sailor. Without taking her gaze from Crowfoot, Ree spoke to her newest mates.

"Come, Legolas, Gimli. I would hate for you to be late because of certain circumstances." As she backed away from Crowfoot, she sent him one last lingering look that said, _"This isn't finished."_ Then she stalked off, the Elf and Dwarf in her wake like some motley guard for a spitfire princess.

On their way to the Captain's cabin, Legolas and Gimli were once again fighting the hopeless battle against nature. Ree had to get a firm grip on both of their forearms to ensure that they did not topple down at the first cresting of a wave. They noticed absent-mindedly that the shore of the nameless town they had spent the night in was growing farther and farther away, the scattered run-down buildings and the great seawall blurring together, splotches of haphazard colors rimmed at the bottom by a thin band of mottled grey that finally blended into the lapping gold of the sea. They passed Kul, who appeared to be heading down to the galley, as Ree informed them, to grab a bite to eat before he spent the long day ahead doing his routine chores around the ship. That was most likely the reason why he managed to stay so large, being smart enough to rise a few minutes before the other sailors to get first dibs on hardtack and rum. These were downed with a shot of lime juice, something that Legolas had little knowledge of and Gimli had nothing. Limes were citrus, she explained quickly after shouting at some gangling red-headed bloke by the name of Skithe to quit "acting up a bloody prance-about pony". They prevented scurvy and blackened teeth, and other horrible things. Even if you did not have an acquired taste for the sour taste of the juice of the fruit, it was literally do or die. The wooden boards of the deck were worn down by many years of feet tramping across their grained surface, the wood itself so old that the grains were raised, like someone had spent many hours carving intricate patterns out of the knots and rings.

Ree quieted down as they approached the cabin, close to the front of the ship and up a short flight of stairs. A tall thin door of heavy oak on sturdy hinges wrought from iron led into the Captain's quarters and his study. She knocked lightly on the door, knuckles echoing against the stiffened wood, Legolas and Gimli still firmly latched onto her arms, their legs swaying ungracefully under wobbling torsos. The knock was quickly answered by a soft yet deep voice, the sound of a man deep in thought.

"Who is it?" Captain Benedict demanded.

"Ree, sir, and the Elf and Dwarf that I told you about this morning."

The Captain's airy tone collected itself when he spoke again, his tone laced with obvious pleasure. "Well come in then, Ree. Honestly, I trust you enough that you need not knock."

With a swallow, Ree twisted the knob of the door like it would burn her and quickly pushed the door open, leading Legolas and Gimli into the Captain's study. Pale golden light washed over the room, bathing everything in a light that made everything appear otherworldly. The light was slanting in through high windows crossed over in twisted iron causing strange shaped shadows to flicker hither and thither. There was little furniture in the study, only a small desk cluttered with scrolls of rolled parchment and ink pots, a table with a large intricate map spread out over its surface and pinned in multiple places with small tacks. Scrutinizing this map was a tall man, who at first glance looked to be thin, but was only corded muscle over lengthy lean bones from the way he held himself, slim waist and broad shoulders betraying his strength. The Captain wore a similar garb to his crew, only less beaten up but still showing the obvious signs that he was out in the storm at the wheel and helm. He had a navy blue coat over a loose-fitted cream-colored blouse, brown pants rolled up over high black knee length boots, scuffed at the toe. He was seated at a tripod stool, his left ankle resting on his right knee, one long-fingered hand tangled in his wavy raven hair, the other planted in a fist at the base of his chin. He seemed to be studying a large chunk of sea glass, bottle green, jade and emerald swirled together. Turning around to face them, piercing eyes the same bottle green, that mixture of greens and blues that shifted between the two shades, met their own.

"Captain Benedict Ravensfold, at your service." He cast a charming grin at the Elf and Dwarf, who were both uneasy on the ship still. Benedict's smile shifted into a smirk. "Don't worry you lot, you will get your sea legs within the week. I hope that both of you realize that you are completely out of your element, you being an Elf of the woodland and you a Dwarf of the underground places. The sea…is a different realm." He paused. "But I also take it that you two are not the _usual_ sort, no offence?"

"I have befriended a Dwarf, dared to leave my homeland for the pure sake of adventure, and left behind most of the proper ways of my people," Legolas listed off of his fingers, still using Ree for support. The rocking was becoming more familiar, but that did not mean that his balance was any better. It was like being a warrior, aware of danger, but still fully immersed in it.

"True enough," Benedict chuckled. His demeanor shifted swiftly, morphing from calm and charismatic to what one would expect someone of his higher status to act in terms of giving orders. "You both shall have your duties as all of the other sailors do. You will rise at dawn, and you in turn shall take watch shifts after the sun goes down. Your names, if you do not mind?"

"Legolas."

"Gimli."

"Fine names, as they are I have been told. It seems awfully strange that some of the heroes of The War of the Ring are now here aboard my humble ship." He leaned forward, shoulders rolling backwards. "Tell me, there must be some reason for you to have chosen our ship." Those eyes, those brilliant shifting eyes of green and blue, bored holes into the azure and russet depths of Legolas' and Gimli's. Some keen intellect shone there, as though secrets laid within beyond reach.

Gimli said nothing, figuring that silence would serve him better in that moment than unwanted words. However, Legolas apparently thought otherwise, because he spoke honestly. "We draw attention, my friend and I, being who we are, and our dreams could not be quenched or put out like fires. We needed hidden transportation, and it appears as though you have it." He spread his hands out for emphasis. Gimli attempted elbowing him in the ribs, but lurched instead, and rapidly grabbed back onto Ree's arm with a worried expression. The sailor girl gave a breathy laugh.

"I will do my best to teach these two the lay of the land, Captain," she promised Benedict, who unfolded his legs and rose to his full height from the stool.

"First of all, I now command you to call be my name."

"But _sir—_ "

"That is an _order_ , Ree. And secondly, see that is it done." He bowed his head at the Dwarf, then at the Elf, and then went back to his previous position, of left ankle over right knee, the broken light falling across his classical features, throwing the angles of his face into sharp shadows, and without a further glance at their retreating figures, he cast his gaze once more to the large glass fragment atop the map, emerald light passing through the smooth jade, the last bit of beauty that the Captain possessed.


	5. Chapter 5

"So…you and the Captain seem to be good friends," Gimli muttered, attempting to break the uncomfortable silence as Ree led the newcomers down to what she had told them were the crew's quarters, where they would be sleeping and spending any of the time that they were not keeping the ship in full working condition, eating sparse meals in the galley, or taking shifts at night. Ree let her gaze slip from the blank stare she was giving the nothingness in front of her to the Dwarf at her side.

"Aye," she replied stiffly. Silence caught the end of her speech and enveloped them once more. "It is just that…being the only woman on board makes one the victim of some cruel joke of humanity. Most of the gentlemanly mates treat me as one of their own, simply another sailor, another set of eyes, another pair of strong arms. However, there are those that think that my position as a woman means that I must be a siren at night."

"Pardon?" Legolas had not heard of the term.

"Sirens are women of the sea that lure sailors to their deaths by the power of seduction. In the Elder Days they were much afeard by any crew that sailed out to open waters. Crowfoot would very much like to expose my _supposed_ affair with our Captain. He's a dirty man if there ever was one, but unfortunately, the rumor has spread around due to his position as the First Mate. And he also sees my wanting his job as a way to get closer to the Captain, not to dethrone the slimy git."

 _"Slimy git?"_

"It is a good insult, Master Elf."

"A quick question, and I do not mean to intrude, but what are the other sailors like? I simply hope that they are the agreeable sort."

Leading them down a set of stairs that descended steeply from the center body of the ship into the dim greyness that swallowed everything it touched, a room filled with empty barrels of ale and dried food, Ree answered him, her voice lilting upwards with each step she took. The stairs were dangerous things for two land-lubbers who had not yet even mastered walking flat-footed on the deck of the _Mist Star._

"They are all pleasant folk, although a bit strange. Everyone on board here is strange, Master Elf, as I truly hope you have noticed. The crew may be a bit hesitant to accept either one of you, but trust is something that must be earned amongst us, not something that is just handed off and given away."

Beneath the deck of the ship was an entirely different world. Everything was shaded in a fuzzy brown light as though the place had been completely covered in walnut stain. Small lanterns let off a small glow into darkened space like they would in a cave completely carved and shaped of wood. That is what the below decks area of the ship reminded Legolas of. Gimli was fondly brought back to the cramped mining tunnels of the dwarves, filled with the deep rumbling tones of fellow miners working in harmony among rivers of underground gold and cavern pools that were disturbed only by the occasional drip of water falling from the razor point of a stalactite as thick around as a stout man.

There was that same chatter here, and the wood gave way to the sound of water coming in contact with the thick pitch-slathered and barnacle-encrusted bottom of the ship. The voices were high and low, thin and reedy and deep like the bass of the great sounding of a war horn. Laughter of all varying kinds followed thick and open without shame. A few more feet into the darkness was a roughly hewn wooden door with a heavy bolt and knocker that looked like some godly hand had taken an iron bar and bent it into the rough shape of a circle.

Without even bothering to knock, Ree shouldered the unlocked door open with a muted grunt to a large musty room full of an abundance of men. They came in all shapes and sizes, from tall and broad to short and thin-limbed, palest of pale skin to that which blended in with the dimness of the room, only lit by a few sparse oil lamps. One thing was common amongst them, though: the steely glint of adventure's fire kindling in their curious gazes as they took in their visitors.

"I will leave you two to get acquainted," Ree muttered, and exited the crew's quarters. She was careful to shut the door behind herself. Silence met the fading sound of her retreating footsteps. Both Dwarf and Elf were under the strong impression that they were being judged. The way that they were scrutinized from head to toe was disconcerting, and both could only hope that they would pass inspection. An old dark-skinned man stepped forwards before all of the rest, rising from an overturned bucket that he had used as a stool. It was the best sort of furniture one could find on board the ship, other than roughly carved chairs that were more inclined to stick splinters into the seated person's behind than provide any sort of comfort. The skin was not loose on his limbs, but crinkled at the corners of his eyes. Wrinkles transformed the topography of his face. The old man pursed his wide lips.

"Yer names." A command. This was the crew leader, not Crowfoot, if personal incentive and physical presence defined that role. Despite his age, the man was tall, and his eyes were wise.

"Legolas," relayed said Elf.

"Gimli," the Dwarf ground out. The old man inspected them with interest.

"An Elf an' a Dwarf. It's been many a year since I've seen one o' yer kind. Name's Jasher." He stuck out a hand for the newcomers to shake. The corner of his mouth twitched when he felt the roughness of Legolas' hand, not at all expecting the skin to have formed its own armor on one so young, especially one of the Fair Folk. It was natural for a Dwarf to have roughened hands, but not an Elf. Jasher raised an eyebrow at this discovery but said nothing of it. "If Ree trusts ye, then yer good enough fer me ter trust."

There were about a dozen men in the room that all stepped forwards at once to greet the new crew members.

"What be yer purpose fer sailing out here with us?" Jasher inquired. "It's plenty obvious tha' neither o' ye have sea legs." As if on cue, Legolas stumbled over his own feet. It was like the waves below were holding a personal grudge against him. Growling slightly at his plight, he fought to right himself once more. Gimli was a bit more fortunate because of his compact weight, but when toppled, he not only stumbled, but was at the risk of rolling around like a boulder. He was certainly heavy and disagreeable enough.

There were all sorts of names, some foreign and others common to the lands whence the Elf and Dwarf came, but all of the voices were different. They were merrier and stronger in some strange way, Legolas preferred their open nature and guarded hearts to his own people. He always had been an oddity. Gimli felt right at home as he greeted these men in the dimly lit belly of the ship, as their brotherhood was a strong reminiscent of the brotherhood of the fellowship. With a twinge of sadness, he recalled his true Dwarven brothers. With what he had already seen in these men, though, he was certain that he would feel right at home. He could only hope that Legolas felt the same way. What was truly odd was their friendship. Stone and greenery, fire and water, black and white, thick and thin, they were opposites in nearly every single connotation of the word. And they couldn't have cared less.

The match was perfect, as had been the old phrase that 'opposites attract'. The tall and nimble Elf was paired wonderfully with the stout and thickly built Dwarf. Gimli's father had not been very compliant when he heard the news of the friendship from reliable gossipers—the scullery Dwarf maids when he ordered a pint of strong mead one afternoon—and the news had elicited the same result from Legolas' father, the Woodland King Thranduil. Now the misfits were fitting in for once among their own kind. The ship was crewed by a small army of misfits.

They shook their own hands with those of many others so that they soon lost track of all the names that jumbled together. All of the handshakes were firm, though, which was a good trustworthy sign in a crewmate.

"So Ree trusts you then?" chimed a shorter wiry fellow with curly red-brown hair and a bit of a brogue to his charming voice as Legolas shook his hand.

"I—I suppose she does, yes," he replied with a startled air. "She let me on board and hasn't yet attempted shoving me over the rail, so I suppose that we have some basic foundation of mutual trust." The eyes of the curly-haired youth glittered with mirth.

"She pushed Crowfoot over once, actually," the youth snickered. "Right hellish mad he was, a bit of a fiery demonic madman for a week towards all of us after that. By the stars, it was worth it though. It was when we were docked at another port to do some trading with the locals, and he had said something that finally caused her to crack. Mind you, he provoked her, and many a time before, although she always turned the other cheek like a proper gentleman would. Eventually, everyone has their breaking point, though, and Crowfoot was the unlucky recipient of that spitfire's full-blown rage. It was quite a sight, too, watching a woman throw such a mighty punch and then haul the idiot overboard. He fell right into the harbor like an unpleasant stone. It was rather glorious. 'Twas probably his first bath in a little over a decade."

Legolas wrinkled his nose at the mere thought of the man's stench. "Probably. What's your name?"

The youth grinned, flashing his teeth. "Roderick. My best mate's the fellow that calls himself Thistle over there—" He waved at the tall ginger man who was currently shaking Gimli's hand fervently. "—whose previous name no one knows. He's the one that I am closest with on this ship, but the longer you stay on, the more like brothers you all become."

"Except for Crowfoot." Legolas noted the bitter look that came to Roderick's eyes.

"He's not our brother, not after we got to know him. Especially, that is, after he began slandering the Captain behind his back. Benedict is a fine man, but the one thing that a captain must not have on his ship is a traitorous soul in a high position. He does not have to worry about mutiny though in the slightest, because everyone hates Crowfoot. That much is a given. In my opinion, he does not favor waking up in the middle of the night with his throat slit by the only bloke that has the keys." Roderick's cheerful expression soured a couple of degrees. "But enough about us; tell me about where you come from, being an Elf and all. Must be fascinating. Me? All I've really ever seen is my mother's womb, and this here ocean." He gestured to the ship's wall. Legolas let out a short laugh. His legs were a fraction steadier below decks than above.

"Nothing exciting, to tell you the truth," he relayed with a sigh.

"You're an Elf, for heaven's sake!" Roderick shot back. His emerald eyes glinted with a yearning for knowledge. "There has to be _something._ "

"Yes," Legolas sighed again. "There is something, there is nothing, there is everything. An Elf has everything and nothing all at once, I suppose. We live forever, yet we can die of a wound to the heart."

"In what way do you mean?" The observation was an intelligent one. The youth was obviously good at gauging emotions and digging up the hidden meanings behind words.

"Wounds gained in battle against Men and the blade, and wounds from the grieving of a broken heart. Elven hearts are like precious glass surrounded by steel and stone. They are seldom broken, but the smallest fracture is guaranteed to cause the entire vessel to shatter."

Roderick contemplated that last statement. His brow furrowed, and he pursed his lips. "You are very different from the people you describe, Legolas," he said at last. "I have heard tell that the Elves are a cold and distant people, and at least now I know why. It is rather funny how we often end up hurting others in order to protect ourselves, is it not? But you're far more open than the others. You have a big heart, Master Elf, and I would warrant that something so weathered from much wear is not made of glass."

A smile crept onto Legolas' features. "I think that you have a point there, Roderick. No, the stronger hearts are made of hardier things than fragile crystal." He took in the emerald of his newfound friend's eyes, and decided that the gem was no longer so breakable. The emeralds were as hard as diamonds.


End file.
